


A moment passed on.

by uncontrollablyyours



Series: my world is dust without you [8]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Catwoman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Character Study, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Happy Birthday Selina Kyle, Happy Mother's Day Selina, I just want them to be happy, Wayne Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 12:14:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30038532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uncontrollablyyours/pseuds/uncontrollablyyours
Summary: Everything that matters is in this one, golden moment.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Helena Wayne, Bruce Wayne & Martha Wayne & Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne/Thomas Wayne, Selina Kyle & Helena Wayne, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne
Series: my world is dust without you [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194788
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	A moment passed on.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday to the woman, the myth, the legend: Selina Kyle. Number one girl! <3

The memory is preserved in Bruce’s mind like all his other memories about them—hazy, smoothed around the edges, preserved in a perfect light that he’s aware his mind has embellished on its own. As a kid, his parents were like towers, tall and untouchable. He could do nothing else but look up at them, and even in his adulthood they are set on a pedestal he cannot touch. As time goes by, the loss of not being able to truly meet their real selves and only seeing them in the eyes of the child haunts him, like an ache he can never get rid of.

Alfred had insisted he wait until breakfast, but Bruce was stubborn and brimming with excitement. He was looking forward to seeing the look on her face—the perfect, dazzling smile that people often saw in the tabloids. He burst into the room with childish jubilee, pushing open the big mahogany doors and jumping onto their bed with a giggle.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” he had squealed, his parents squirming under the burgundy covers, surprised at the excited energy that so early awakened them. “Look, look, look!” he presented in his arms an impressive basket of flowers, dominated by colors of yellow and red, arranged in a way that obviously indicated Alfred’s touch. Bruce rushed to clarify that the choice of flowers were his own, and that it was his selective eye which was responsible and deserving of the thanks.

Thomas groaned in his pillow, still sleep-deprived from the hectic night at the hospital. Bruce didn’t even notice. Martha was already sitting up, her bare face looking slightly different with just having woken up, but still undeniably beautiful. Her mouth was already formed into a perfect smile, her hair a mess of curls around her glowing face.

“You’re too sweet, my love,” she had said that morning. She had thanked him with a shower of kisses and praise for the beautiful flower arrangement. He was a bundle of laughter in his mother’s lap, tufts of dark hair nestled in her chest. She had queries as to where Bruce had obtained the carnations (Bruce had feebly denied taking it from the garden) and commended the wonderful arrangement (Bruce pretended they were his own).

At some point, Thomas had faced them, his head propped up on one elbow. For some reason, his face in that very moment was the most prominent part of the whole memory. He had seen his father’s joy in many occasions but this time it was special, oddly unforgettable. It wasn’t the biggest smile playing on his lips but a crescent little curve. And the real smile was so obviously in the look in his eyes, the flash of contentment and peace spread upon his features. He still looked exhausted, like he was still worn out from yesterday’s problems and already tired from the ones that awaited him later on—but in that one golden moment, they all could wait, and everything was perfect.

And it’s funny, because sometimes he looks in the mirror and the resemblance tugs at his chest. The flinching similarity between him and his father is one thing. But on his worst nights, he looks so specifically like Thomas when he had just gotten home from a bad day at the hospital. He sees the familiar exhaustion haunting the similar features, a mantle of obsession passed on from father to son. An obsession to strike out against incurable disease, inevitable death. The seemingly pointless, relentless advocacy. When he sees it, the first thing that comes to mind is the look on his father’s face on that warm Mother’s Day morning—the attentive gaze that looked over them like a watchful guardian. Bruce wants to ask him of the thoughts that were running in his head that very second, how it must have felt to not have to face the demons for a short while, how rare those moments must have been…

A girly squeal bursts into the room, a rush of tiny footsteps on a carpeted floor, little feet landing on the spaces between their tangled legs—

“Happy Mother’s Day!” her dark hair is a river down her back, distinct from the light blue of her nightgown, a light blue that’s strikingly similar to the blues of her own eyes and of her father’s. Apart from that, everything about her face screams of the woman next to him, who has stirred from her sleep and is already yawning into her arm.

“Kitten, it’s still so early,” Selina purrs.

“Mother!” Helena whines, and Selina laughs loudly, finally sitting up. In the little girl’s arms is a basket of red roses that very much resembled those in the garden, arranged in a way that carnations were long ago—Alfred’s touch.

“Look at it,” Helena’s voice is buzzing with excitement. “Alfred told me they were in season this year, and it’s so pretty, and I know you like pretty things—“ she’s rambling on, and Bruce can’t stop looking at her. She is glowing with life, her hands in the air in gestures to aid her explanation. He turns to Selina, who has a laugh bubbling in her throat, her pale green eyes attentive on her daughter’s.

Helena finally looks at Bruce, her mouth curled into a smile that is uncannily much like Selina’s, a playful glint in her eyes. “So sorry Daddy, but no gifts for you today,” she drawls.

Bruce’s head throbs with lack of sleep, but has no trouble smiling. “Really? Not even one kiss?”

Helena brings a finger to her chin contemplatively. “I’ll have to think about it. What do you say?” she turns to her mother, who is admiring the basket in her lap.

“Your father will survive a while without kisses. I, on the other hand,” she sets the flowers on the dresser. “I won’t last a day. Give me a kiss, Lena.”

Head propped up on an elbow, Bruce smiles at the sight before him. Golden light seeps through the big windows, a hazy atmosphere clouding over the room. Helena is on Selina’s lap, scattering kisses on her mother’s face. He thinks of the case that’s kept him restless since last night. The business deal he has to finalize later in the day. The pending investigation he’s yet to complete… for a moment, they all don’t mean a thing. Everything that matters is in this one, golden moment.

Thomas may have passed this on, too.

* * *

Helena’s shoulders are slumped, her cowl set aside by the keyboard. She types furiously, recording her log for the night.

There are some nights when the burden feels heaviest to bear.

She hears graceful footsteps coming down the Cave.

“Mother,” she turns. Selina’s carrying a tray with tea, setting it down on the table near the computer.

“You’ve been up too late,” Selina tells her daughter.

“It’s been a long night.” Helena massages her temples. “I…” suddenly the weight in her chest can’t be ignored, and the warmth in her throat demands to be acknowledged. “I’m having a hard time doing this… without his help…” her hands tremble.

Selina looks at her, her gaze forlorn but attentive. “I know what you mean. I miss him too.” She walks over to her daughter, running her fingers through Helena’s long, dark hair. “You can still ask for help, you know. Dick. Damian. Cass.” Her arm wraps around her daughter. “He wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

“Like what?”

Selina smiles sadly. “Frustrated,” she says. “Obsessed.”

“I’m not obsessed, Mother.”

Selina lets out a breath. “Oh, yeah? You forgot something.”

Helena looks at her, searching her mother’s face. “Shit,” she whispers under her breath. “Mom, I’m sorry. Happy Mother’s Day. It slipped my mind—“

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Selina brushes it off. “Really. It’s okay. I understand, and I’m not offended. I know the stress you’ve been under recently.” She rubs her palm along Helena’s arm. “I just wish you’d take it easier. This restlessness… it’s not easy to carry around, Helena. You’re going to fall apart taking this on alone.”

Helena falls silent. Tears leak from the corners of her eyes. “I… I really miss him.”

Selina sighs. “Me too, kitten. Me too.”

Helena leans her head on her mother’s shoulder, the way she used to when she was young. She lets herself fall into Selina’s embrace, focusing on her warmth than the figures sprawled on the monitor and the discarded cowl on the keyboard. So many problems await. So many more things to do. Her father’s loss burns in her chest, and the feeling of missing him haunts her every time she goes out at night.

In this moment, wrapped in her mother’s arms, she allows herself to forget about them for a while.


End file.
